Meeting Sarah and Corrie
Mar 2, 2003 Friends
Sarah, Corrie and their families left about four hours ago. I’m taking a break from working on an article to talk about them.
Sarah, of course, I knew was wonderful from the last meeting. This time her significant other came along and I adored him, too. He’s very funny and he charmed all of the kiddies. Then Sarah announced that she was supposed to be meeting Corrie (I keep wanting to type Co_rye) on Sunday and I said, “Gosh, why don’t you tell her to come here?” So she did!
Corrie is so great. She’s gorgeous, too, as is her brood. Her husband is also swell and it’s very nice when people you like happen to be married to people you like. Todd has a Brett-ish aura about him; he just seems really kind. (As an aside, doesn’t it suck when you love someone but despise her partner? I actually broke up with a friend a few years ago because her husband was such a big-mouthed lout. He’s the kind of guy who would hear about our infertility and say something charming like, “Hey, Brett! You must be doing something wrong! Why don’t you let me have a go at her?” Any wonder they’re no longer part of our lives?)
I really really really hope to see them all again. I told Matt and Sarah that they’re welcome to make our house the regular in-between stopping point when they visit Louisville again. I would also love to see Corrie again and meet her next baby. I showed them the diaper samples I got and as soon as the pics are taken, I’m going to give Corrie the really adorable green farm animal one. You know I must like her because I’m pretty jealous when it comes to kick ass diapers!
I’m just trying to buy her love. Hope it works! 
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Tags: Infertility
The featured author for this month
Mar 1, 2003 Writing
I decided to make Mary Wesley the author of the month for two reasons: first, she’s a great role model because her first book was famously published when she was 70; and second, her books are perfect escapism on a sodden, wintery day. They’re smart, sexy, but don’t take too much critical thought. I would call ‘em a guilty pleasure except that I never feel guilty blowing off the housework to curl up with one.
